


Perfect

by ea-stofnar (SinsofYouth)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidental Proposals, Domestic Fluff, First Christmas, Harry and Draco kiss a lot, M/M, like a lot, perfect christmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-30 23:12:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8553355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinsofYouth/pseuds/ea-stofnar
Summary: Draco and Harry's first Christmas together. It's nothing like Draco imagines.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sepherim_ml](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sepherim_ml/gifts).



> This is a gift fic for Sepherim_ml for the Harry/Draco winterfest.  
> I hope it's fluffy enough! I also hope Draco's sappiness doesn't completely drown out his delightful snark.  
> It was so much fun to write. Enjoy!  
> :D

Draco smiled down at the man asleep beside him. 

He carded his fingers gently through soft curls, mussed from sleepy tossing and turning. 

It had taken Draco some time to get used to Harry's restless slumber.

For the moment, however, the Hero of the Wizarding World lay placidly dreaming, his head pillowed against Draco's thigh whilst Draco, sitting up against the headboard, looked on. 

Affection fluttered in his chest and Draco wished idly (and secretly; Harry had turned him into a domestic, not a Hufflepuff) that such serenity could last forever.

In another few minutes though, he would need to wake Harry, who would likely grouse and complain and burrow deeper under the blankets and ask why they had to be anywhere so early on Christmas Day. And Draco would remind Harry that exchanging gifts at the manor had been his idea and would lean down to kiss him conciliatorily and tell him his mother would understand if they cancelled. Harry would sigh and say no and head to the shower, which Draco would more than likely interrupt.

They would be late for breakfast and presents at the manor. Harry would apologize and stutter and try and make up an excuse other than they’d just finished having sex in the shower five minutes ago. Narcissa will kiss his red cheek and tell them to come into the lounge. She would catch Draco's eye and he would know she knew.

He won't tell Harry.

Breakfast would be delightful and awkward and once presents had been exchanged, they’d make their excuses and floo over to the Weasley residence.

Draco would do his best not to needle Weasley too much. But he'd get in a shot or two and apologize when Harry gave him the look. The one that said: 'I understand you can't help yourself, but do you have to antagonize my best friend on Christmas?'

Draco would smile, despite the bitter aftertaste of apology still in his mouth, and would kiss Harry. The kiss would say: 'Of course I do, and I love you too.'

Ronald would make wrenching noises when Harry reached up to touch the ends of Draco's hair. Granger would slap the Weasle's arm and tell him to 'behave'. And when Weasley shot Draco a dirty look, Draco would stick his tongue out at him. (once Harry's back was turned, of course).

They'd have lunch and make awkward small talk and say their goodbyes a little before dinner. 

Draco wasn't ready for Christmas dinner with the whole red-headed family and suspected they would claim the same. It had only been six moths since he officially moved in with Harry, and only eleven since he and Harry started dating.

He had offered to…’cowboy up’?, but Harry said to give everyone a little time; after grinning like a mad Hippogriff and asking Draco to repeat himself.

Draco hummed and scrapped his nails lightly over Harry's scalp, letting his mind drift again.

They would spend the afternoon in Diagon instead of the overstuffed Weasley residence and Harry will look other-worldly bathed in the glow of fairy lights. Draco would take Harry's hand and Harry would lace their fingers together and smile wistfully up at the dancing tinsel. He will try and look like he's not missing the Weasley's, but when Draco asked Harry if he wanted to go to dinner without him, would shake his head.

Draco would pull him into a storefront stoop and tell Harry to be honest.

Harry would snort and ask Draco if he wanted to be the pot or the kettle today?

Draco might push his luck, might tell Harry that he hadn't answered the question. Harry's face might grow serious, might turn playful, might turn back again to wistful. But whatever his expression, he will lean in to give Draco a small peck on the lips and Draco would convince him to stay a little longer, chase the chill from his mouth.

Harry's eye would glimmer with fondness and he would whisper. "I'm right where I want to be."

Draco would stop himself before his heart skipped a beat. (Harry had turned him into a romantic, not a Hufflepuff.) And aparate them both home, mostly to avoid a public indecency charge. 

And later, when they were all curled up and ready to go to sleep, Harry would tell Draco it was okay, about the Weasleys. Harry would probably say something like he didn't expect them to warm up to each other right away and he was proud of Draco for meeting with the Weasley-Granger family this Christmas.

Draco will roll his eyes and tell Harry that maybe he'd make it next year. Harry murmur sleepily not to rush things, but they would both know this time next year Draco would be sitting at the dinner table making small talk with Mr. Weasley Senior. 

But neither will say anything.

Harry will just pull him closer, rest his head on Draco's chest and Draco will run his fingers through soft curly hair and drift off to sleep, content, wishing tomorrow would never come.

The only part, Draco mused, lightly tugging on a curl, he hadn't figured out; was when to give Harry his gift.

It wasn't one of the half dozen he'd tucked under their tree, neatly wrapped and trimmed. This one was special and secret and had been hidden away in his sock drawer since September.

Draco held out his unoccupied hand and the top drawer in his dresser slid open and a small box flew out, landing lightly in his palm. He flipped the top of it open with his thumb and inspected the plain gold band inside. 

He wanted to shower Harry with emeralds the same shade as his eyes, cover him in diamonds and rubies. But his lover had simpler tastes.

So instead he'd commissioned this simpler masterpiece be made. The ring was goblin gold and flawlessly crafted, protective magicks folded into the metal itself.

It was perfect. Though a Malfoy would never consider proposing with anything less than perfection.

And that left him with his current conundrum: how he was going to propose. 

He'd been wracking his brains for months, trying to come up with the perfect way, the perfect method in which to declare his devotion and ask for Harry's hand.

Christmas seemed like the right time, a year to the day he'd first admitted to Harry just how much he really cared. But no matter what scenario he would conjure, none were...perfect.

And a Malfoy would set-

"Draco, what's that?"

His father would be ashamed of how Draco jumped in surprise. His head snapped down at the man in his lap who was supposed to be sleeping, but who was instead staring wide eyed and fully awake at the box in Draco's hand.

Before Draco could snap it shut and tell him it wasn't anything, Harry was easing himself up, plucking it from his hand. He pulled the ring from the box and stared at it, slack-jawed for several seconds. Draco was tempted to reach out and poke at his lover's ribs (just to make sure he was still alive), but he could see the rise and fall of Harry's chest. He was likely just shocked; though only about half as shocked as Draco was.

"Draco." Harry finally said in a hushed voice and slipped the ring onto his finger. "It's perfect."

"Well of course it-" Was all Draco had the chance to say before Harry had his face in his hands and was kissing him over and over between soft exhalations of his name.

When Harry let up at last to breathe, Draco set his face into a stern mask...well, as sternly as he could while his insides were fluttering about like a flock of Doxies (because apparently Harry had actually turned him into a Hufflepuff).

"Bloody Gryffindor." He complained without any real malice. "You always spoil my plans."

Harry just smiled and nipped at Draco's lips, not flustered in the least by his lover's bluster. He whispered into Draco's mouth. "Yes I do." Before kissing away every snide reply Draco would have made otherwise.

They were late to breakfast, but only because Harry kept stopping every few seconds to kiss the breath out of Draco. And really, who could blame Draco for pinning his boyfriend up against the door and having his wicked way with him after that? 

Harry wasn't blushing with embarrassment when they stepped through the manor's floo. He was grinning ear to ear.

Draco made his excuses, but when his mother saw Harry's hand, her eyebrows made a bid for her hairline.

Weasley and Granger reacted in a similar fashion and despite Hermione's earnest assurances they were completely supportive, Draco had a feeling he knew what the Weasley's dinner conversation would be about tonight.

It was actually Harry who begged off after a few hours and pulled Draco down to Diagon; determined to get Draco a ring of his own. They spent the rest of the afternoon traipsing up and down the tinsel-covered street until they finally found a band to put on Draco’s left hand that was as perfect as the one on Harry’s.

Draco stared at it as they walked out of the shop; a few hundred gold lighter than before. But Draco knew that wasn't the reason he felt like he could take off for the moon any second.

Merlin's Balls. Christmas was turning him into a sap. Or Harry was. Draco made sure to tuck his hands into his pockets before Harry could catch him gawking at his ring like an infant (just because he was the world's first Slytherin-Hufflepuff didn't mean he wanted the whole bloody world to know it).

He still smiled the whole way home.

Preparing dinner was a sedate affair; or it rather started out that way. 

Draco diced eggplant, brazed chicken breast and hummed an arrangement of Handel’s ‘Messiah’ Harry had introduced to him earlier that month. Harry ‘helped’ by washing greens and intermittently turning to kiss Draco breathless every few seconds; that same stupid, blissfully contagious smile on his face.

"Draco Potter." Harry declared after his third such maneuver, quite obviously pleased with himself and his little brainwave.

Draco arched an eyebrow.

"Rather presumptuous on your part, Mr. Potter, since it seems you've forgotten a rather important detail."

"What's that?"

Draco leaned, speaking against Harry's mouth. "You haven't said 'yes' yet."

Harry drew back, his expression thoughtful. Draco knew he was going through the day, trying to come up with a time when he had in fact told Draco he would marry him. Which of course he hadn't because technically Draco hadn't even asked Harry if he would. There's been that whole debacle in bed this morning and then the rest of their day had been spent scurrying to and fro.

Never one to admit defeat, however, Harry replied. "I think the answers rather obvious, don’t you?"

Draco sniffed in mock disdain and began to pull away. "Well, if you're going to play hard to get..."

Harry pulled him back to him, laughing and kissing and saying. "Yes, I'll bloody marry you, you git." And Draco, held him close, happier than he thought one person possibly could be, except when the kiss turned insistent and Draco's hand began to wander and Harry just chuckled and stripped out of his ugly Christmas sweater and said.

"Insatiable."

The eggplant burned.

But later, once they'd put both fires out, Draco lay on their kitchen floor, Harry half sprawled across his chest, toying absently with the man's thick curls. They let the sweat dry on their skin and Draco ran though a mental list of what vegetables he knew were in their fridge to figure out would pair with the wine he'd picked for dinner since his first choice was toast.

"This was a perfect Christmas." He felt Harry's murmur against his breastbone.

Draco's hand paused mid-stroke and he considered.

This Christmas hadn't been grand. It hadn't been particularly orderly outside the fact they'd actually made it to the manor and the Weasley-Granger residence and from thence back home again. It had been mildly peaceful, but had in no way been anything like the 'perfect day' he'd anticipated this morning.

Well...to be completely fair, they had both ended with wild, kinky sex. That, however, was a fairly standard night for them so...bully for Draco. 

But, as Draco was slowly coming to realize, Harry didn't deal in perfection, not like other (normal) people did. 

Harry Potter didn't plot or scheme or plan or compile methods to attain the desired outcome. Harry Potter took the cards he was dealt (and Draco knew there had been some absolute shite ones), sorted them together and made his own 'perfect'. And he didn't care one iota if the world fell in line after him or not.

Draco planted a kiss in Harry's hair.

"Yes, I suppose it was."

And maybe that wasn't such a bad thing at all.


End file.
